


Another Sole Survivor

by Chroikey



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Gen Work, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mostly Gen, Post, Post-Canon, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chroikey/pseuds/Chroikey
Summary: Calvin Huxley decides that he, too, wants to be a legend in the wasteland.
Kudos: 3





	1. Smack to the Head

“Well, gee, if he can do it, I-I… I can too.” A vague statement that he thought of seconds before he fell into sleep last night. A vague statement that replayed in his head, stutter included. A vague statement so stuck in his mind that he could almost feel his lips move and repeat the phrase as he goggled his mirror.

“Calvin!” As it turns out, he _was_ repeating the phrase; hearing his name was the thing that broke his trance. “Do you think I need more reason not to sleep at night? Swear to God, one of these days I’m gonna shut your mouth. Permanently.”

His bunkmate's words didn’t phase him, he was used to the verbal abuse. What he wasn’t used to was the face looking back at him in the mirror. He hadn’t ever looked at himself properly. Never needed to. For whatever reason, this time was different. Maybe wasn't only trying to look at himself but rather in himself. Uncharacteristically introspective for the man. He tried to look past his tan, acne-scarred skin. He tried to look past his darting, amber eyes. He tried to look past his itchy deep-brown handlebar mustache. He tried to look past his ragged newsboy cap blanketing his flat, deep-brown hair. He couldn’t, he didn’t know who he was or what kind of life he wanted to lead. He just knew that this life wasn't his.

Suddenly, all of Calvin’s thoughts were replaced with a sharp, dizzying pain on the back of his neck as his forehead hit the mirror. “I thought we got rid of synths, but I guess I was wrong.” A sarcastic quip that came as a bonus with the slap that still had Calvin reeling. “Get back to sleep, freak.”

He looked back at his shared abode, the corpse of a two-centuries-old dream. He didn’t know that, all he knew is that it was the safest place he’d lived. The most boring place he’d lived. All founded by he-who-could-not-do-wrong, the Commonwealth’s own locally-made messiah, the man who made Calvin think, “If he can do it, I can too.”

Following in the Sole Survivor's footsteps, he left Sanctuary. The early morning stars were the only thing guiding his path.


	2. Eye to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calvin encounters a gang of Raiders.

“Hey, Stuts, I’m feeling... nice today.” She made sure to sarcastically stress the word ‘nice.’ “You got two choices: scoop your eye out or I cut your heart out.” Calvin didn’t expect this when he embarked westward an hour or so ago, but he accepted it as the situation he had to deal with. “Could I-I-I at least have some Med-X? For the pain?”

She laughed. Her laughing turned into a cough with a rather noxious odor that made Calvin gag, his disgusted reaction halting her coughing fit. “You’re serious?” In one quick motion, she drew her knife and crawled down to Calvin’s half-sitting half-lying body. “If you don’t stop talking and start cutting, I might just do it for you.”

“No, no, no, no, I-I-I-I’ll get to it… just… gotta have something to do it with, y'know?” She squinted her jaundiced, uneven, dilated eyes before dropping the knife.

Blood rushed onto Calvin’s lap as he thrust the knife into her abdomen, bleeding through the rags she wore. She didn’t scream, instead, she fought. She twisted the knife, attempting to get it out of her stomach and out of his hands. It only gored into her further, a sight Calvin couldn't bear to watch. Finding futility, she began to yell and garner the attention of a few men who burst through the storage shed's door. Calvin, began unsuccessfully kicking and pushing to get the limp, screaming woman off of him. “Jerzie, I gotta get a clean shot! Move!” The men all had their rusted guns out, pointed at the struggling duo as they squirmed their way through a homicide.

Finally, Jerzie’s spirit had left her, the shell of her body falling near completely limp and silent--aside from a ghastly last breath--while blood pooled on the floor at Calvin’s hips. A toned man, tanned by dirt and complemented with barely any spots of skin covered, charged through the doorway past the anxious group of raiders.

“Fuck’s going on?”

His disheveled eye met the bloody scene, panning over the situation as his mouth hung open. Calvin could almost see the gears turning in the man’s head before he exclaimed, “Serves her roight.” Calvin was about as confused as the people beside the scantily-clothed man, but he didn’t say a word.

“She’s been hidin’ from me ‘cause she knows she’s been stealin’ from my stash. Ain’t nobody steals from Radiator’s stash.” He lent out an oily hand to the paralyzed Calvin. “Come on, mate, y’don’t wanna know how much shit in her's leaking onto you right now.”

Calvin obeyed, taking his jerky hand. Radiator thrust Calvin up onto his feet, blood dripping down his patched-up jeans. From this angle, he could truly appreciate Radiator’s spiked mohawk--smelling as if it was kept upright with dirt, oil, and expired hair grease. He could also notice the pit that occupied where his right eye should’ve been. “Wot's y'name?”

“I-...I-”

“Aye-Aye it is,” Radiator cut right through Calvin's stutter before turning back to the group investigating the commotion. “Come, now, give ‘im the rounds.” His demand and animated presentation of Calvin was met with silence. With a sigh, he more seriously demanded, “Tootie, show this man around.”

“Yes, sir,” an annoyed voice responded before squeezing through the crowd. The lady's dirty lab coat was still white enough to be a stark contrast against the tans and yellowed cloth of the people behind her, the light-blue sleeves of it leading to two bony hands, hanging by her side. “Come on, we don't have all day.” She waved towards herself as she broke through the crowd again, letting Calvin follow and take in the sweaty air of the crowd that had formed around the shed. Radiator began yelling to the crowd as Calvin left the scene.

“Don’t ask.”

“Don’t ask what?” Calvin inquired, directly against her instruction.

“Anything. The only information you’re getting out of me is what I’m willing to tell you.” Calvin held his tongue out of intimidation, “This is Rocky Cider Farm, your new home. Keep your voice up, your smarts down, and you’ll fit right in.”


	3. Been Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radiator discloses a plan.

A gunshot pierced through the crisp, early winter sky and through Calvin’s unwashed, unprepared eardrums. He jumped awake in his plastic chair, eyes wide open with the first explosive shot. His first job was night watch, which he evidently didn’t do a good job at. Maybe it was because Tootie had told him that nobody came around here, or maybe it was because the cold night had whisked him unwillingly into sleep.

Either way, he wasn’t going to dwell on his incompetence, and instead got up from his chair and wiped his dribbling nose. Eyes weary yet darting, he was ready for a confrontation. Looking to his right, he saw the unmistakable mohawk of Radiator. A long, black, scoped rifle in his arms, aimed straight to the clouds. With a second deafening shot, the barn doors opened to reveal the group of groggy marauders.

Murmurs of “Every fucking morning.” and “How does he find her every day?” were heard from the gang as they dragged themselves from the barn to Radiator’s attention. Calvin was reluctant to go with any of the five misshapen men, instead waiting for Tootie to come out as a sort of unknowing comfort. The gang of 7 were fully intent to their leader, still scantily clad in leather belts.

“Orright. We been runnin’. Shit’s obvious.” Despite his ridiculously faux Australian accent, he was quite good at leaderly dictating. “What y’don’t know is why we’re runnin’. Truf is, shit’s empty out west n’ the only place there was shit in, they ran me out. Good news, Tootie’s found sumn out east.” He paused for a second, looking at the idle woman. Clearing his throat, he insisted, “Tootie, c’mon.”

“Right.” She came to Radiator’s side, being surprisingly small compared to his pure veiny muscle. “It’s called Sanctuary. The place we’re robbing, I mean.” She continued, “They have good defense and good supplies, but we’ve got better. Aye-Aye, with me. You all, with Radiator.”

Calvin followed the woman while Radiator raved and yelled to the cheering men. As soon as they were far enough to comprehend each other over Radiator’s empowering speech, she started, “Aye-Aye. Go back and let us in. Don’t care how you do it: blood or not.” Baffled by the situation, he attempted to respond, “I-I-I-” “No, nothing you say or have said to me is sacred. This is up to you.” She’d nearly read his mind and subsequently shut him up, all he could do now was travel east to where he thought he’d belonged.


	4. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impromptu plan is set into action

Rain pattered on Calvin’s cap and streaked down his face as he stood watch in one of the creaky, wooden watchtowers surrounding Sanctuary’s entrance. He’d been counting both the hours and his blessings ever since he was given this prone guard position as punishment for leaving. A short, rusty rifle lazily laid across his chest, his eyes darted for any sign of Radiator or his crew.

But no gang came. Instead, a man in centuries-old farming clothes walked up to the giant wooden doors and shouted toward Calvin and his fellow guard on the other side of the gate. “I am in need of Sanctuary. Get it? ‘Cause it’s what this place is called?” The stranger elongated his vowels and spoke monotonously, bar the last words in his sentences.

Calvin and the watchman looked at each other in nonverbal agreement that they were baffled by the stranger. The other watchman holstered his rifle and stepped down, opening the gate while signalling for Calvin to come down as well.

“Name?”

“Mmm… Bill”

“Weapons?”

“Just dear old Annie.”

Calvin was given the stranger’s long, polished black rifle to inspect before looking up at the stranger’s face in realization. This was a member of the gang. His unmistakable, pointed face fell from his triangular head alongside his droopy eyelids, covering the upper three-quarters of his bloodshot eyes. He still wore his greasy ponytail the same way he did when they were at Rocky Cider Farm: mid-height and unkempt.

Calvin gave the rifle back to the man and was tapped on the shoulder by the other watchman. Turning both of their backs away from ‘Bill,’ they whispered.

“Well, Cal, y’think he’s clean n’ good? Sounded like he made up his name on the spot right then.”

“I-I-I-I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bring him in. He’s only one man. Plus, who knows, he might be able to take your place.”

“Heh, well, I’m sold. Anything to get outta the rain.”

They turned back toward the stranger, telling him he’s fine to come on in as long as he takes the job of watchman. He agreed, replacing the other watchman’s place.

“And I thought you were stupid.”

“Huh?” Calvin exclaimed, taken off guard.

“Is this place really that desperate? Take any man off the street and give him the power to shoot anyone who wants to come in?”

Calvin didn’t answer for a while, just looking out into the foggy, rainy distance before settling on, “I-I-I suppose.”

Bill knocked his sniper rifle against the wooden tower, making an awful rhythm in his boredom. Calvin was just anxious for the next move, the smell of rain filling his nostrils as the view over the bridge glazed his eyes.

“Shit’s fucking boring. Bet they wouldn’t mind us leaving post for a bit.”

Calvin darted his head toward Bill in disbelief, not realizing who he was sharing his job with.

“Come on. Drinks? Finding a girl you fancy? Banging her brains out?”

Receiving only a blank stare, he continued, “You the boring type, huh?”

“No, no I-I just…” Calvin tried to collect his thoughts before sighing in defeat, “Fine. Bar’s at the end of the cul-de-sac.”

So, they walked Sanctuary's only path to the end of the roundabout. It was an impressive structure of rotten wood and rusted metal, considering everything else that people tried to make in the wasteland. Calvin sat at the bar, staring at the counter while Bill was already mingling with a lone woman in the corner. Calvin couldn’t even ask for a drink before Bill was walking up the rickety stairs with the woman.

“Gee, Cal. One day in, one day out, one day in… you ever gonna commit to this place?” the bartender said, trying his best to spark conversation while getting Calvin’s drink.

“Ah, I-I-I dunno. Just seems real dull here, y’know?” He stuttered for a while, trying to articulate his reasoning, “I-I-I’d rather be completely on my own looking for scraps, or living the high life in Diamond City; none of this middle-ground, just-scraping-by stuff.”

“Eh, seems like you’re going about it the wrong way. Be glad what you have, don’t be sad over what y’don’t.”

This presented Calvin a full meal of thought, but he wasn’t able to touch it before his shoulders were shaken by Bill. “Hey, fuckhead, I got something for ya!” He was thrust upward from the stool and practically carried upstairs to a door.

Bill unslung his rifle and twisted the doorknob, revealing a frantic woman holding up a chair as a weapon. Slamming the door behind them, Bill yelled right into Calvin’s ear, “She’s all yours, loverboy!” Trembling, the woman had her back to the furthest wall while tears streamed down her red, silent face. Calvin, completely dumbfounded by the scenario he was thrust into, looked toward Bill for some kind of explanation. But, Bill was too busy aiming directly for the woman’s head while shouting, “You ain’t want Annie in here, and now you ain’t want cock in you?”

“Come on, Aye-Aye, show ‘em the night of their life.”

But, he couldn’t. He just stood and stared while his breath was rapidly exiting and entering his lungs. Head tingling with adrenaline, he grabbed hold of Bill’s rifle. An ear-splitting shot rang through the building with Annie’s jolt.


	5. Another Sole Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calvin becomes Sanctuary's only survivor.

Screams cut through the air: one from the woman, now fetal and bleeding from her knee on the floor, and the others from an unassuming resident or two in the building. The woman’s scream was terribly shrill and pained, that haunted and continuously rang in Calvin’s mind. Bill was unphased, though, as he dragged Calvin down the stairs and out the front door. Some, in their panic, had taken cover and pointed their guns at each other. Others, like Bill and Calvin, were running into the street.

A blue house to the left caught Bill’s attention, darting for it while Calvin absentmindedly stuck to him and whatever he was doing. Eyelids raised up halfway--as far as they would go--Bill knocked on the door.

As soon as he heard the doorknob open, he thrust Annie against it and rattled it with the flick of his finger. A thick layer of dust sprung off the door as the man on the other side groaned in pain, letting an opportunity for Bill and, by extension, the completely confounded Calvin to enter the abode and ensure the man was incapacitated.

He was; the rather large man was hunched on the ground, shriveling up to protect the bullet wound that pierced through his tattered clothing and no doubt through his heart. He was another image that was burned into Calvin’s mind, each breath he gave slipping out a heave of pain as he accepted his fate. Calvin was thrown on top of the man as Bill ran several chairs and bits of furniture to the door, barricading it while yelling.

“Knew you were too pussy! ‘Least they expected this”

The last sentence stuck out in Calvin’s mind as he took off his bloodied denim jacket before he realized more gunshots were coming from quite a distance away from the house. Following Bill to what appeared to be an old laundry room, they huddled and listened for their saviors.

His Limbs shook, his eyes were wide open, and his mustache was tingled by his harsh breaths as he waited and heard the cracking of rifles draw ever-closer. The door, at this point, was being bombarded with the fists and kicks of several brave settlers, their attempts cut short by a few bullets.

Silence followed before a new sound hit the door: a very heavy, rain-like sound that smashed against the door again and again before it finally split apart with the roaring cry of breaking wood and metal against the tile floor. A distinct faux-Australian accent came from the main room, “Figured all th’banging on th’door was because you two were in ‘ere.”

Calvin, filled with fear, and Bill, whose mind hadn’t comprehended the situation, stood still before the voice called out through the house again.

“Fuck were they bangin’ on the door for, then?”

Calvin quickly sprung up and met with the rest of the gang in the main room, bloodied and weapons drawn. Radiator’s hands held a metal chain as if it was a whip, subtly tugging it from a splinter of wood from the door it was stuck on. “There you are, mate. Had me worried fer a second.”

Bill poked his head from the hallway, sickly smile spreading across his pointed jaw as he came out from the hallway. Though, in his state, he had tripped backward into a closed closet, smashing through the brittle, rotten door. Making a commotion, the entire gang had turned their heads to see that there was a man holding up Bill’s limp body.

Calvin was the first to grab his pipe revolver and aim for the man, as he recognized him. It was his old bunkmate from when he had lived in Sanctuary for that quick week. A wicked smile cracked from beneath Calvin’s shivering face as his finger lay on the trigger.

“You see? He did it. I’m doing it, too.”


End file.
